


Analog

by ashinan



Series: Beginnings [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony knows he doesn't see the world the way others do, but he's unsure if he can fix it now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Analog

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the gift fic series I did on tumblr! I just very much loved this one.

Sometimes, Tony wonders if he has things backwards in his mind. If the idea of how the world works _isn’t_ what he’s been taught, what he’s always seen, and if that’s true, what can he do to fix it? He can’t just change his perception; the numbers are a part of him now, peering out of his eyes along with him, calculating, graphing, solving, and it gets more difficult every day to pretend it’s not something he should just agree to.

It’s more, now, with the team and his semi-relationship with Pepper that he can _see_ dissolving and the numbers click, click, _click_ , in the back of his head, projected rates of recovery slim to none. His relationships with the team aren’t much better; his first encounter with Captain Steve Rogers ended almost in blows when Steve had mentioned his father. He stands in his workshop now, staring at the holograms on the floor, patting absently at Dummy who is grasping at his shirt.

“What should I do?” he asks, soft, to no one in particular. Dummy whir-clicks at him, bumping gently against his side before he zooms off toward the built-in kitchen. Tony watches him, can’t help but smile when he knocks off the blender cup and makes a surprised beep. He turns back to the holograms, which are of his teammates.

“Okay, so, let’s look.” Tony frowns, stepping forward. “Captain Steve Rogers, successful applicant of the super soldier serum, frozen for seventy years. Adaptability bordering on insane. Is able to figure out every one of my weak points and exploit it, the bastard.” Steve’s profile spins in front of him, that same condescending look in his eyes. Tony looks away from it and toward Thor. “Thor Odinson, Asgardian, ridiculous physique and ability to fly, call down lightning, and command an entire alien nation. Related through family (not blood) to Loki. That sounds fun. Natasha Romanov. Liar. Cheat. Quick with a needle and quicker with those thighs of death. Possible relationship with Clint Barton.” Tony spins around, bringing up a notepad and tapping in a few key words. Her profile as Natalie comes up and he frowns. “Should have been able to figure that out. Paranoia is my forte after all.” He turns back. “Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye. Accuracy percentages are astronomical. Has shot at me at _least_ three times since I met the team, though I still have a strange affinity for his company. Might be because of the sarcasm, might be because he seems to have a more stable relationship with Bruce Banner than any of us. Which leads me to Bruce.” Tony expands on Bruce’s file, peering at the lines of text. “Intelligence mainly around gamma particles and their resulting mutations. Fascinating man, really, if not for his other side, the Hulk, who has the temper of a mad bull and the ability to destroy a sky scraper with a simple punch. Terrifying, really.”

Tony sighs, rubs at his temples. The numbers slide in front of his eyes, fitting over what the holograms show him, and he bats them absently away.

“How the hell am I supposed to bring all these variables together into something that resembles a _team_?” Tony asks. “Especially when I seem to be the goddamn outlier.”

Dummy bumps against his side again, holding what looks like a milkshake. There is obviously motor oil in it, but it’s the thought that counts. Sighing, Tony takes it and scratches at the wires behind Dummy’s third finger. Dummy purr-clicks.

“It would help, I think, if our fearless leader wasn’t so keen on cutting me down.” Tony swirls the milkshake about. Dummy pokes at the hologram of Steve’s face. “Maybe I should give him some kind of gift, a ‘welcome-to-the-future-sorry-everything-you-love-is-gone’ gift. Or is that too morbid?”

Dummy bobs up and down and makes a sad whistle. Tony sighs. “You’re right, of course you are, and if I find out Jarvis reprogrammed you to chastise me when I’m being strange, I’ll rewrite his personality.”

Another bob and Dummy whirs off to collect his fire extinguisher. Tony puts the rotten milkshake on the table and starts to circle around the holograms. He skirts the edge of Steve’s, batting at the useless eight that plays in his holographic hair, the curl of a three beside his too blue eyes, and the texture equation hiding in the hollow of his cheek.

“How can I do this?” he says again, frustrated. He spins the hologram around until Steve stands in full, eyes shining with broken sadness and uncertainty, and Tony rubs at his face. The numbers click, sort, and there, _there_ , he has it!

He whirls, bringing up age old schematics, sorting through his father’s files until he finds it, finds that familiar line of a motorcycle, rumbling engine spread out for his eager eyes. He remembers seeing the files in his father’s study, tucked neatly between the book on Darwinism and Pavlovian theory. He remembers taking it down one day, looking through the scattered remains of a classic motorcycle, the numbers touching lightly behind his eyes, and he remembers his father’s rage and slap when he found Tony with the papers scattered around his small form. Tony sighs and allows the memory to fade back into his mind.

Looking back at the motorcycle, he lets the numbers play in the cylinders, noting circumference and acceleration rates. He takes apart the entire shell, scraping decade old ideas and replacing them with his own, learning the way his father saw it, saw Steve’s bike and built it up from the ground. He pulls on those memories, keeps the paint and the figure and plays around with the model inside.

By the time the schematics are ready for him to start bringing everything together, Jarvis comes online. “Sir, you have been in the basement for nineteen hours. The other Avengers are noticing.”

Tony blinks, his mind coming back to his body and _god,_ he’s starving. Tired and hungry and possibly too much pain in his lower back and neck. He groans as he stretches, back crunching and hips cracking. He sighs, wanders over to the kitchen, and Dummy coos against his side, handing him a plate of what looks like cold pasta, congealed into a mess.

“Did you make this?” he asks. Dummy clicks and points at the door, where the screen is blinking. Tony frowns, putting the plate in the microwave and hitting the buttons, and then wandering over, Dummy at his heels. Dummy taps at the glass and Tony bats him away, peering over the latest video footage and can feel the disbelief like a blow to the gut.

Steve taps in what is obviously Pepper’s code, a plate and glass balanced in one hand. Dummy wheels over to meet him, suspicious and protective as always, and Tony pats at him in thanks. Steve skirts around him, and then seems to stop, eyes wide as he looks off camera. Tony adjusts the angle, and is surprised when he sees himself, sitting back on his heels and moving a vast array of holographic machinery about, sliding it this way and that and Tony knows when this was, can remember the numbers scrolling past his eyes like data waves. He flushes, feels the heat in his cheek, and the Steve on screen seems to come back to himself, bringing the dish over to the counter with Dummy still hounding him, making angry beeping noises, bumping against Steve’s side, and tugging on his shirt. Steve sighs, and stands up tall. He calls Tony’s name, once, twice, and then finally a third, but Tony knows he’s lost in the numbers and calculations and equations. Steve seems to stall, standing and just watching, and Tony fast-forwards the video until Steve leaves. He had stood there for forty two minutes.

Tony steps back when the microwave beeps, blinking away the shock and the formulas and the tired hum of his body. He looks over at the bike, looks back at the microwave and decides.

He’ll have that bike done in two days time.


End file.
